


Second Impressions

by gendzl



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Good Guy Kent Parson, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Misunderstandings, past zimbits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2020-12-21 06:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21070031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendzl/pseuds/gendzl
Summary: Prompt: I’m at a bar when I see someone making you uncomfortable so I swoop in as your partner…only to find out that the person you’re with is your actual partner and they broke up with you because they thought you were cheating – my bad?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I finally got an AO3 account! Hooray!
> 
> The total length of this particular fic is probably not going to exceed 5k. I've got 2.7k written right now, and I'm a short fic kind of writer. It's also going to be entirely self-indulgent, without all that much angst or concern for, like...realism.
> 
> Updates once a week, rated Mature for language/themes, and there are trigger warnings in the end notes! (Most of it happens in this first chapter, and none of it is super graphic, but I don't want to take any chances.)
> 
> Also, I have no idea where I got this prompt. I've had it in my fic drafts for over a year. If you've seen it somewhere, let me know! I'm happy to link to it!

Bitty’s only significant travel experience, before this week, was the plane ride from Georgia up to Samwell. But through some trick of fate, the soccer team had an open slot available for their annual Spring Break, all-expenses-paid, “Get Fucked Up In Vegas” trip, sponsored by alumni. His boyfriend, the only Chad at Samwell _not_ on the Lacrosse team, bribed the others into giving Bitty the ticket with the promise of an individual pie for everyone on the roster.

Now, Bitty loves to bake, but that is far too many pies. He had specifically asked Chad to bribe the team with the promise of “pie” not _“26 pies”. _

But damn if Bitty didn’t want to get west of the Mississippi before graduation. Even if it was to Vegas, and he was a broke, not-yet-21 college student who couldn’t drink or gamble while he was there.

Ehhh, whatever. It was free.

Tonight, however, Bitty has about had it.

It’s their third night here. Chad has once again gotten drunk and handsy. They’re in their fourth club of the night, and all Bitty wants is to get back to their hotel room and pass out on the uncomfortable bed. (No, Chad, he does _not_ want to do _that_ in the club bathroom, please put down the margarita and drink some water.)

Bitty is pushing Chad back from his attempt to drunkenly suck face for what feels like the hundredth time (less of a push and more of a shove this time, really) just as a semi-familiar voice comes from his left.

“Eric, where have you been? I was worried.”

He turns to see Kent Parson, face split into a smile as bright as the sun. His eyes, however, are slightly narrowed.

“Huh?” Bitty and Chad say at the same time.

“Come on, bud, you can’t leave your boyfriend hanging like that.” Kent says, as though that makes any sense. Bitty is baffled, and wonders if some of his soda had rum in it after all.

Chad finally—_finally_—leans out of Bitty’s space. “What did you say?”

Shit.

Kent adopts an innocent, quizzical expression. “I’ve been looking for Eric. My boyfriend. Who the hell are you?”

“Also his boyfriend.” He turns and—

(It should be noted at this point that that Chad is a belligerent drunk, prone to action over talking. Chad is also generally just an asshole who belongs on the Lacrosse team.)

—punches Bitty right in the nose.

Bitty drops like a ton of bricks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Alcohol consumption to excess, repeated boundary violation (Chad keeps macking on Bitty after Bitty has made it clear he doesn't want to be macked on), domestic violence (Chad hits Bitty).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inaccurate medical procedures here, folks! My nose has never been broken, and I'm too squeamish to do thorough research on it. Also, I've flown exactly twice in my life, each time as a kid who was entirely uninvolved in the payment/ticket process. Let's assume that the rules I've made the airline have are correct. 
> 
> It's suspension-of-disbelief week, okay? :)

When Bitty’s senses return a moment later, he’s on the sticky floor of the club, stone-cold sober and feeling his heartbeat in his nose as he watches Chad storm off through the parting horde of onlookers. All he can focus on is that his t-shirt is _definitely_ ruined.

“Oh my god, Eric, I’m so sorry,” Kent says. He’s knelt down beside Bitty, looking exactly as apologetic as Bitty wishes he would. It's annoying. “Is it broken? It looks like it might be broken.”

Bitty scrunches up his face to check, and immediately wishes that he hadn’t. Moving his lips as little as possible, he says, “Yep, yeah, yes, it’s broken. Please get me out of here. I can feel the bassline in my _face_, Kenton.”

Kent helps him stand (mostly unnecessary) and leads him out of the club (again, mostly unnecessary) with a hand on Bitty’s back (actually, that part’s kind of nice).

They’re standing on the curb waiting for a taxi, Bitty stemming the flow of blood with the already ruined shirt he’s rucked up to his armpits, when Kent clears his throat. “I’m really sorry, Eric.”

He turns his whole body to look at Kent. “So why’d you do it?”

“I didn’t think you were together. From across the room he just looked like a stranger groping you. You _were_ pushing him away.”

Bitty starts to nod before thinking better of it. “Yeah, I guess.” He tosses a begrudging, “Thanks,” into the awkward silence that descends upon them.

“You’re welcome.” Kent sounds like he means it.

Bitty sort of thinks that’ll be it, but when the taxi arrives, Kent clambers in after him. “Sunrise Hospital’s emergency entrance, please.”

The pain having rapidly turned Bitty blunt, he says, “You don’t like me.”

“Correction: I don’t _know_ you,” Kent bounces back.

The cabbie peers at them curiously in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, okay, you don’t know me. So why’d you ‘help’?” Bitty uses the hand not holding his bunched up t-shirt to his face to add the air quotes.

Kent looks insulted. “What, you think I’d leave someone to get assaulted?”

Bitty attempts a glare, but quickly gives it up in favor of the less excruciating blank expression. “I don’t know. I’d _hope_ not, but the first time we met wasn’t exactly a glowing impression, Kentworthy.”

“You—you do know my name’s just Kent, right?”

“Yes I do, Kentward, but you broke my nose.” He pauses, thinks, rephrases. “Caused my nose to be broken.”

They sit the rest of the trip in silence, Bitty spending most of it trying to reconcile the helpful (if somewhat rash and ill-informed) guy next to him with the asshole he’d run into at the Haus party over a year ago.

It’s not until the initial flurry of activity is over and they’re sitting in the brightly lit waiting room with a small stack of forms (who decided that emergency rooms—places where people with concussions, migraines, and just general head pain come—should have bright fluorescent lighting?) that Bitty actually looks at Kent with anything resembling concentration.

He looks...well. Really good.

He’s run a little ragged, this close to the end of the season, but that hasn’t impacted his attractiveness one bit. He’s in jeans, yet another flannel button-down (this one purple) and shoes so white they’re just _begging_ to be thrown up on. His trademark snapback is a pale peach Aces hat, and one of his many cowlicks is making a break for freedom through the back of the hat (which is at his forehead, because Kent doesn't wear hats properly, ever, apparently). He’s a bit rumpled from the night out, too.

Honestly? Hot.

Bitty blames this clear lapse in judgment on the pain radiating through his face.

“Middle and last names?” Kent asks with the clipboard balanced on his knee.

“Richard Bittle,” Bitty responds automatically. “Wait, you’re filling that out for me?”

Kent just gives him a look that says ‘obviously’ and asks, “Date of birth?”

They continue in this manner until Kent knows far more about Bitty than Bitty ever expected him to, and a nurse calls his name off her list. When Bitty stands to follow her back, Kent and his clipboard trot after him.

Growing more bewildered by the moment, Bitty just stares at Kent from the edge of the hospital bed upon which he has been deposited, paper rustling loudly beneath his butt. Kent settles himself on the doctor’s rolling stool, sliding slowly back and forth along the same three feet of linoleum as he double-checks the forms.

“Oh, uh, emergency contact?” he asks after a moment, pausing in his wheeling.

Bitty must be silent a beat too long, because Kent looks up at him, pen poised. “You okay?”

“Mostly. I just don’t know who to put. My mom doesn’t know I’m in Vegas.” And she never would, as far as he was concerned. Lord.

Kent hesitates, then asks, “...Jack?”

Bitty tilts his head to the side. “Why would I put Jack down as my emergency contact?”

“Weren’t you two...?” Kent waggles his fingers meaningfully.

“That was a _year_ ago, Kentember. Besides, we tried it; it didn’t work out. Chad was my rebound, except everyone was teasing me about having a rebound so I just...kept dating him. It was easier than breaking it off, which really doesn’t deserve any praise. I would say that he at least got me to Vegas, but I’m not feeling too great about that decision right now.”

Kent stares down at the paperwork. “Alright, well, I still need a name.”

“Just leave it blank,” Bitty groans out, letting himself fall back onto the bed, his legs dangling off the end and head far from the nearest pillow. He hears Kent scribble something, but ignores it in favor of complaining.

“You know, I made 26 pies to be able to come on this trip. Apple and peach, a bushel of each,” Bitty singsongs, a bit punch drunk. “My God, that was so much butter. Do you know how much butter that took? Two-thirds of a cup per crust, which comes out to 36 sticks. That butter weighed as much as your cat, Kentlehem.

“I spent a hundred and fifty bucks on ingredients and disposable pie plates just to end up boyfriendless in a Las Vegas emergency room with a broken nose,” he laments.

“Didn’t you _just_ say that you barely liked the guy?”

“That’s beside the point, Kentucky,” Bitty bites back.

Kent is grumbling something about ‘now who doesn’t like who’ when there’s a knock just a scant moment before the door opens. Why do doctors do that? What’s the point of even knocking if you’re not going to wait for a response?

Bitty sits up to greet her, throwing a half-hearted glare at Kent.

The doctor, an efficient-looking woman who looks to have at least three inches on Kent, introduces herself as “Dr. Coleen” and takes his paperwork. “Okay, Eric, you think you’ve got a broken nose? Do you mind if I take a look at it?”

Bitty pulls his ruined shirt away from his face for the first time in about 45 minutes, and ends up having to peel a small part of it off his skin as the blood had already started drying. He winces.

“Ooh, yeah, that’s definitely broken. Your eyes are starting to bruise, too. Here, let me just...” she trails off, unloading various items from the cupboards and returning with gloves, saline, and gauze. “I’m gonna clean some of this blood off you a bit so you don’t look quite so garish for your boyfriend here, okay?”

Bitty leans away from her gloved hand. “I’m sorry, my what?”

Dr. Coleen’s brows draw together in confusion and she jerks her head towards the clipboard she set on the low counter, and then at a suspiciously silent Kent in the corner, still sat on her stool. “Your forms say he’s your emergency contact? ‘Kent Parson comma boyfriend’.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

“You seem a little out of it. Could you—" she leads him through a quick series of questions and then feels around the back of his skull, presumably checking for signs of a concussion when he hit the club's floor.

No concussion, just one little lie on his intake forms.

When she’s satisfied that he won’t be keeling over any time soon, she returns to fixing him up as gently as possible.

The realignment of his nose is much more painful than the breaking of it, though it’s immediately followed by the relief of having it back in place.

A long while later (ugh, hospitals), Kent—who had remained mostly silent since the doctor’s arrival—once more leads Bitty outside to find a taxi.

His nostrils are stuffed with gauze, and his nose is covered by an external cast, which is possibly the tackiest thing he’s ever seen. He feels better, equipped with painkillers and a round of antibiotics, but he’s not particularly happy. He won't be taking any selfies for a while, that's for sure.

“Do you want to head back to your hotel?” Kent asks mildly.

Bitty considers this for only a half second. “My clothes are probably on the sidewalk outside by now, and I doubt I’m welcome back—the whole team probably thinks I cheated on him by now. He’s a very dramatic man, that Chad. I’m sure you noticed.”

Kent laughs, and he's beautiful, and Bitty wants to die a little bit. “Yeah. So...what do you want to do?”

“Fly home, I guess, though I don’t think anyone will be at the Haus, since it’s Spring Break. I might be able to change my flight.” He pulls his phone from his pocket for the first time since he left the club, and finds several missed calls and messages from his Hausmates. Swiping them aside for the moment, he calls the airline, his southern drawl becoming more prominent as he argues with whoever is on the other end.

Kent watches in amusement until Bitty hangs up. “My ticket is part of a group deal, apparently, and they can’t change my ticket without changing everyone else’s, too, and they won’t do _that_ because I’m not the ticket purchaser. Unless I can come up with $600 for a new ticket, I’m stuck here for another week, and then I’d have to fly back in the seat next to the guy who broke my nose.”

“Well, if you want to head home now, I can pay for the—"

“Kent, no.” Bitty’s first impression of this man appears to have been _wildly_ inaccurate, and he's a mixture of peeved and uncomfortably pleased with that fact. “You might have gotten my nose broken, but it was an honest mistake, and one that you’ve more than made up for. I’ve wasted your whole night here already. I can’t take a last-minute plane ticket from you, too.”

He sighs. “Okay...then, what?”

Bitty sets his mouth in a grim line. “Let’s try the hotel.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Updates weekly," I said, before promptly hitting a wall and spending the next 6 months hiding from my own fic. 
> 
> Anyway, here you go! It's late, but it's written! I make ABSOLUTELY NO PROMISES about the next update, as I learn from my mistakes, but I will tentatively say that this pandemic situation—while terrible—has been very good for my writing output. So, you know. There's hope.

An hour later finds Bitty and Kent standing in the hotel hallway with Bitty's mostly intact luggage strewn at their feet. Chad had practiced restraint by throwing the suitcase—unzipped—into the hall when they'd arrived to fetch it, rather than off the balcony, and after a cursory glance, Bitty thinks he's probably only missing his phone charger.

Nobody had gotten punched this time, so he called it a win, but he clearly wasn't welcome back anytime soon. He'd gotten as far as "You know I wouldn't cheat on you—I mean really, how would I have had the time to hook up with someone since we got here?" when Chad sneered at him from the doorway.

"That's Kent Parson, Bitty. Oh, don't look so surprised. Dating you means watching hockey, and we're _in Vegas_. I looked up the roster before we left Samwell. You think I don't know why you wanted to tag along? Free trip to see your boyfriend? Fuck you, Bitty. Your pies aren't even that good."

With that, he'd chucked the suitcase into the hall. The slamming of the door is still echoing around them.

"Well." Kent says.

"Yep." Bitty crouches down and starts stuffing his clothes haphazardly into the suitcase. Kent bends to help, and they work silently for a few moments before Bitty lets out a huff. "I will have you know that my pies are _delicious_."

"I'm sure they are, Eric."

Bitty zips his luggage and stands, deciding that now's as good a time as any to change his mind about Kent. He lets the ice crack, and says ruefully, "You've seen my underwear, Kent. Call me Bitty."

Kent grins. "Okay, Bitty, where to now?"

Bitty leans against the wall and tries not to hate his past self for the stupid decisions he always makes. "This trip was supposed to be all-expenses paid, but I'm not with the group anymore. I used most of my last paycheck making those pies before we left. So I guess my options are facing the wrath of my mother, or accepting your offer for the ticket."

Kent nods solemnly for a moment before a shit-eating grin crosses his face. "_Or_, you could spend the rest of your vacation with me and make your ex extremely uncomfortable on your flight home. That is very much also an option."

"I'm sorry, _what_?"

"If you don't want to feel like you owe me money for a plane ticket, you can just… hang out at my place and bake me pie for the rest of the week. Come with me to practice, if you want. Go to a museum or something if you get bored. I've got a guest bedroom, and a really nice kitchen, grocery delivery on demand, and your nose is freshly broken anyway, so I can't imagine that flying now would be a pleasant experience. Better let it heal a few days first."

Bitty gapes. "But I've been so mean to you!"

Kent shrugs. "Technically, I was mean first."

He shakes his head and smiles. "Alright, then. Lead on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the end of this week, Kent is gonna be the grandma from Mulan: "Would you like to stay forever?!"


End file.
